Friday, July 11, 2008

Ice Cream Spiritual

I hear summer's old fireworks, my blaring alarm, and single rotating fan. Jumping off the couch, I scourer for my keys, and slam off the alarm. It’s 2 p.m. on a Saturday, and I am late for a date with rocky-road ice cream.

I havn't eaten anything for the past three days, (it's the price you pay when trapped in a washing machine); so I swipe up half a jug of Gatorade and a box of Fruity Pebbles before running out the front door. The July heat reminds me that I forgot to change out of my soggy Fugazi t-shirt and tie-dye Puma's, as I down the last bit of power juice with a mouth full of pebbles. After a couple minutes, or maybe more, my course drifts towards the sun. I go flying past the dairy parlor, and head for the river.